


Shelter from the Storm

by exilefromlife



Series: Legacy [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anduin is lightforged deal with it, Ebyssian being supportive, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exilefromlife/pseuds/exilefromlife
Summary: Ebyssian has been without family for so long, so being a supportive family member seems only the natural thing to be.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Legacy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673437
Comments: 18
Kudos: 64





	1. Permission

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I love Ebyssian, okay. Give me more content, Blizz.

Ebyssian watches the champion in front of him curiously. She’s using different techniques to mix the herbs than he’d seen in Highmountain, but he refuses to doubt the archdruid. He feels his brother sidle up to them and lean against him. Ebyssian smiles to himself and wraps an arm around his little brother affectionately. The drake had grown up in isolation, much like Ebyssian himself, and he was determined to throw as much casual affection at him as possible.

Wrathion practically burrows into his side. The action tips the older dragon off to the mood emanating from him and he politely excuses himself from the druid’s company. His opinion of her skyrockets when she beams back at him and says she’ll write the process down for him. His brother did have a habit of cultivating the good ones.

Once they’re in private, he turns to look at the younger dragon. “Alright, brother, what troubles you so?”

His brother shuffles his feet in an odd show of hesitation. He squares his shoulders and looks at Ebyssian with determination. “I have a question for you.”

“What else is new?” He asks with a laugh. “As always, you have my undivided attention.”

“As the elder of our flight, I’d like to formally request your permission to wed the human, Anduin Wrynn, High King of the Alliance and King of Stormwind, Commander of the Light-Touched.”

He knows his expression shows his shock when Wrathion looks like he’s been kicked. Words fail him in the wake of such formality--the traditional words of one asking the leader of the flight for permission to marry outside of it. It’s not entirely proper, considering he abdicated that role and practically threw it at his brother, but he appreciates the gesture for what it is. Formality deems that he speak truly, and he shifts into his full wyrm form to give his answer. “I, Lord Ebyssian of Blackrock Mountain and the Black Dragonflight, hereby and henceforth give my irrevocable permission to wed High King Anduin Wrynn.”

His brother nods stoically, and, well, _that_ won’t do. Ebyssian blows a puff of smoke at Wrathion before coiling around him and nuzzling him with his snout. “As if my answer would have been anything else, you silly whelp.”

“ _Not_ a whelp.” The drake responds indignantly.

“You’ll always be a whelp to me, brother.” Wrathion shifts at that and launches himself at the larger dragon with a playful snarl.

Back in Stormwind, Anduin Wrynn pretends not to notice the minor earthquake the tussle creates.


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ebyssian makes a home for his flight.

Blackrock Mountain is a _wreck_ , and that’s being generous. He appreciates the structures therein, to be certain, as the amount of work that had to go into taming the mountain had to be no small feat. However, it was no longer fitting for the black dragonflight, not by half. Ebyssian cocks his head, contemplating how to fix the mess of the mountain, finally settling on the only possible solution: it all had to go.

It takes some time to set up what he intends to do. He has to send warnings to both Stormwind and Ironforge to let them know earthquakes would no doubt occur during the process, but he’d try to keep them as mild as possible. It would be easier to do with his brother, but he was in Silithus still. Anduin’s idea to remove the sword from Azeroth worked but at no small cost. The Light had torn through and killed some of the draenei that had volunteered. The others had held on and ridden the waves of power, coming out the other side Lightforged. Anduin had been lucky enough to wield the power with enough raw skill that he’d also been spared. Exhausted and surging with new power and immortality, but alive.

Ebyssian understood that such an experience would result in Wrathion clinging to his husband--recently mate, with the draconic ceremony completed not a week before the incident. So, this was his job to do alone.

He’s polite enough to warn the elementals in the Steppes about his plan, and they’re grateful enough to lend their power and return to the place that created them. He digs his great claws into the rock at the base of the mountain and begins channeling the energy from the earth around him.

He shouldn’t be surprised when it greets him like a long-lost lover, pooling in his very being until it’s directed to turn the mountain into a great fortress like it always should have been. He feels the metal plates inside melt and turn into rich veins of ore, feels the magma move, surge, cool. The spire itself boils with energy, turning into the throne of his flight. Mechanisms meant for subjugation are obliterated, the earth’s own disgust evident.

Finally, the energy subsides and Ebyssian collapses onto the stone beneath him, panting heavily. Darkness takes him for a time, until a concerned and familiar chirrup rouses him. _Wrathion_.

His younger brother is nuzzling against his muzzle and the wyrm yawns right in his face. He’d feel bad about it, but he’d been having such a nice nap after such hard work.

“Ebyssian! What did you _do?!”_ Wrathion shrieks, pacing. “I could feel you drawing energy from across the world, are you _insane?!_ You could have been killed!”

“’M fine.” He slurs, yawning again. Ebyssian slowly gets to his feet and stretches like a cat, scrunching his forepaws in the ground repeatedly before standing upright. “I fixed it.”

“Fixed _what?_ ”

“Our home.”

Wrathion looks perplexed, then angry. “Our--you molded the _mountain_ with that power? You _are_ mad!”

“It’s home, brother. It had been sullied by our family’s neglect and corruption, it had to be corrected.” He starts to walk around the base of the mountain, now covered in sheer obsidian for several hundred feet. It hadn’t been what he intended when he thought to protect the spire from climbers, but it would suffice. The entrance on the one side is now much larger and grander, gold veins having lent themselves as decoration along the massive pillars and gates.

Wrathion’s awe keeps him silent as they enter the mountain, head swinging from side to side at each new wonder. The make their way to the spire--now accessible from the main entrance, if a bit of a climb--and Wrathion shifts to his human form, legs giving out under him. Ebyssian shifts as well, rushing over to check what ailed his brother.

The younger dragon looks around with tears in his eyes, locking onto the throne on one side of the highest room in the mountain. Behind the carefully sculpted throne is a seal. Ebyssian’s rather proud of it, if he’s being honest. A black diamond dragon breathing a gout of fire opal flame circles around a gold lion on a field of cobalt. Behind it all is the silhouette of Blackrock herself, stark in black tourmaline.

Wrathion turns his head to look up at Ebyssian and his voice is full of so many emotions as he whispers one word: “ _Why?_ ”

It’s an easy question to answer. “You and I never had a true home, and what had been here would never have been ours. Now it is. Welcome home, brother.” He smiles as the smaller male hugs him close and sobs his gratitude into the older dragon’s Tauren fur.


	3. Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexstrasza tries to visit the whelps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering where the whelps came from, please check out my fic "Legacy." These two stories are in the same universe.

Wrathion startles from his sleep, no doubt woken by the all too familiar presence that Ebyssian had felt as well. The drake immediately looks panicked and shifts, covering the thankfully still-sleeping whelps with his body, hissing as he crouches. “What is _she_ doing here?”

“Probably looking to see the whelps.” Ebyssian comments calmly as he stands and also shifts.

His brother lets loose a truly pissed off snarl and the spikes at the base of his neck begin to flare protectively. “Over my dead body!”

The older of the two sighs and stretches his neck over to press his forehead and nose against Wrathion’s own. It settles the drake significantly. “Calm down. I’ll handle her.” He nuzzles against his brother, who returns the affection easily. “If you stay so agitated, you’ll wake the whelps.”

Wrathion’s eyes widen and he carefully moves so he can curl protectively over his children. “Let’s not do that, then.”

“Good, I’ll be back.” He gives Wrathion another nuzzle and starts to make his way to the platform outside.

When he gets there, he sees Anduin speaking to Alexstrasza sternly. She’s in her high elf form, so Ebyssian drops into his Tauren one to keep them on relatively equal ground. “Life-Binder.”

“Ebyssian.” She bows slightly to the blond human, who crosses his arms with a scowl. “I was telling him that I was here to see Wrathion’s brood. Surely you can direct me to him.”

“Stuff the niceties.” Ebyssian commands. “You know you won’t be seeing the whelps. Not today, not ever.”

The red dragon looks stunned. “Why not?”

Ebyssian puts a hand on Anduin’s shoulder as the human starts to glow brighter, unintentionally channeling his power. “The last time you were around a black dragon whelp, it was after you and your flight had torn him apart and reassembled him.”

“It was necessary to remove the corruption. A gruesome process, to be sure, but--”

“Were you aware that Wrathion was aware of that process happening, Life-Binder?” Ebyssian asks coldly. Even the human startles at the tone.

“I--”

“I didn’t think so. He remembers it as if he had been hatched already. The nightmares haunt him to this day.” He can feel the mountain responding to his growing anger and suppresses it with all the care of his ten thousand years.

Alexstrasza looks deeply insulted. “It’s not as if I’m going to do that to these whelps. If they were corrupted, I would have already felt it. I would greatly appreciate--” She grits out the words. “--if I could meet my cousins. How many are there, anyway? Eighteen?”

“Yes. All healthy and in no need of your presence.” Anduin responds, voice tight. He glows slightly brighter.

“Hm. And I noticed the green flight had disposed of over fifty. Pity he produced such a small yield.” Her words aren’t meant to be as deeply cutting as they are, merely factual, but they bring forth the carefully checked rage from Ebyssian anyway.

He shifts in the blink of an eye and pins her fragile form beneath a massive paw. The mountain allows the ground beneath her to soften, the threat obvious. Both his own proximity and the molding of the mountain around her form prevents her own shift. Leaning close enough that his natural heat makes the red dragon sweat, Ebyssian snarls. “You mean well, Life-Binder, but you pave a road to destruction with your good intentions. Know this: you are not welcome here. Set a foot in our territory again, and you will not leave. You leaving now is a result of my mercy. Do not forget who our sire was.”

He releases the red dragon, who scrambles out from the significant dip in the floor and glares at him. “You _dare_ threaten _me?_ ”

“Yes!” Ebyssian _roars_ for the first time in his life. Alexstrasza isn’t a dragon without self-preservation instincts, and despite her greater power, she takes the hint and leaves with what dignity she has left. He waits long enough that he knows she won’t actually be hit and releases a bellow of flame that licks her tail as she makes herself scarce.

After he can no longer see her form in the sky, he shifts back and caresses the floor where she’d been pinned. It molds back to its previously flat state instantly. Ebyssian hears the sigh Anduin lets out and turns to him.

The king looks a little harried, but pleased. “ _That_ was fun.” The statement drips with sarcasm. His expression shifts to one of worry. “She won’t retaliate for that?”

“She can’t. Wrathion’s been officially appointed Earth Warder. He holds the same rank as her. If she tries to do anything to me in retaliation, the Accord will hold her accountable…especially since they like _me_.” He shrugs. “She won’t, though. It’s not in her nature anyway.”

Anduin hums in acknowledgment and places a hand on the dragon’s arm. “Thank you for standing up for him.”

“He’s my brother.” Ebyssian replies, and that simple sentence must satisfy any other thought the king has on the matter, because he nods once and heads back inside. After a few minutes of watching the life move about the mountain, Ebyssian follows.


	4. Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrathion asks Ebyssian to stay.

Ebyssian is roused from his slumber by pressure against his side and a mournful chirrup. He opens one eye, sees his brother tucking himself against the larger dragon’s side, and closes it again. Wrathion was egg-heavy again, and likely close to laying his second clutch. This time was worse than the last, making the younger dragon truly miserable. Ebyssian extends his wing and covers Wrathion as best he can.

“Sorry for waking you.” Wrathion says quietly. He nestles closer into the larger dragon’s side.

“It’s alright. How are you doing?” He still half-asleep, but he wants to make sure his brother’s alright before dozing off again.

Wrathion shakes his head. “Feel awful. Couldn’t keep anything down today. They keep shifting everywhere.” He pauses for a while before continuing. “Anduin sent for Merithra.”

 _Now_ he’s awake. If the leader of the green dragonflight had been summoned, Wrathion would likely lay his new clutch before daybreak. “I should leave shortly, then. Do you think I have time to pack a few items?”

“No!” Wrathion yelps, and Ebyssian stands abruptly. “No, no, I meant don’t leave!”

He hesitates. He could stay and Wrathion could become violent towards him mid-birth. Ebyssian wasn’t afraid of getting a little roughed up, but it could seriously harm the clutch. On the other hand, he could leave and everyone would be much safer. However….

“Please?” Wrathion’s tone is the most pleading he’s ever heard it (even including some of what he’s accidentally heard from his and Anduin’s chambers on several nights).

“You could hurt them.” Ebyssian states slowly.

“No.”

“Wrathion--”

“I said _no!”_ He wails.

“Alright now, what is going on in here?” The forever level tone of Merithra greets both black dragons. “Ebyssian, you should leave.”

Wrathion’s neck spikes flare up and he snarls at everyone in the room. “ _No, damn you all!”_

Merithra startles before she sighs at him. She looks back and forth between the two dragons and huffs out a short sound of amusement. “You don’t view him as a threat, do you?”

The younger black dragon shakes his head. “He’d _never_ hurt my children. _Never_.”

“Okay.” She turns to the older dragon. “Looks like you get to stay. Follow his cues on how close you get though, alright? We don’t need him panicking.”

Wrathion whimpers and there’s a flurry of action as Anduin comes in with blankets, a trail of servants following him, and Merithra helps him get into position. Ebyssian decides it’s far more polite to stay up near his brother’s head, for both their dignities. He does _not_ need to see the process that closely.

He watches curiously as Anduin congratulates him after every egg slips into the blankets, having never seen a human so enthused about such an odd process. He seems to understand when Wrathion tires of it though, because he stops after the eleventh one.

At that point, his younger brother stretches his neck out towards Ebyssian, and he realizes that he’s looking for reassurance. He gives it, gladly, and they press their heads together in a familiar gesture. This time, though, they don’t part. Wrathion presses harder as time goes on, seemingly taking strength from his brother’s very presence. Ebyssian watches him struggle with the last few and would give every ounce of his strength to help ease it even for a moment.

At long last, Wrathion slumps and shifts in the same motion, human body covered in a layer of sweat. Anduin quickly comes over to wrap him in a blanket--eases shock, the human had told him once.

Ebyssian stays close, curling protectively over his brother and the king, as Anduin investigates each egg. Wrathion looks like he wants to cry when the final number is double his last clutch, but he just cuddles against his mate and lets Merithra handle the rest. A tired hand touches Ebyssian’s muzzle, directing his attention back down to the couple next to him.

“You were hissing.” His brother says quietly. “I trust her, it’s okay.”

“I was?” He hadn’t noticed at all. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be. I like that you’re protective of them.”

Ebyssian shakes his head. “Of _you_.”

Wrathion smiles up at him, yawns, then falls asleep, a deeply pleased--if exhausted--expression on his face.


	5. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Wrathion's sons comes to talk to Ebyssian.

“Uncle Ebyssian?” A small voice from behind where he stands in the apothecary asks.

Ebyssian turns and smiles at his nephew. Like his father, the whelp had grown at a faster rate than those of other flights. Not quite as fast as Wrathion himself, but enough to keep them on their toes. “Ah, Varian. What can I do for you?”

Despite his name, his nephew looked nothing like the old Alliance king from whom he’d taken his name. His dark features and striking blond hair were far more elegant. The young dragon bits his lip and looks around nervously. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course.”

“Without you telling the others?”

Ah. A secret then. He _loves_ secrets. The brood knows not to keep secrets that could hurt anyone, so the ones brought to him are always of the amusing sort. He gestures to the spare stool in the room and takes a seat on his own. “I would never.”

Varian looks relieved, which is unusual. Usually the whelps looked excited or mischievous, but never relieved. Ebyssian looks at his nephew with keen eyes. Something’s bothering the whelp, but what…his eyes glance past a carefully hidden bruise on his neck and he has an inkling of what’s going on.

“You know Stella, right?”

“Stellagosa and I are old friends, child.” Ever since she no longer had to keep watch over Azurewing Repose and was able to merge the branches of the blue dragonflight under Kalecgos’ rule, she’d been a frequent guest at Blackrock Mountain and Stormwind.

“Well, Papa sent us all to Uncle Kalec a few years ago, remember?” Varian’s eyes twinkle and Ebyssian shudders at the memory of _that_ disastrous idea. If he could have gone gray, he would have then. Granted, collapsing the Oculus was a remarkable feat of power, but the whelps weren’t even supposed to be in that part of Northrend, let alone near the Oculus.

He fixes his expression into one of neutrality, but his voice is a tad higher than usual as he replies. “Unfortunately, yes.”

The whelp has the audacity to _giggle_. “Before that, I’d met Andagos, he’s one of Stella’s older broods. He’s a little older than me.”

“That short one? The one with the scar?” That story had been a lesson for the black whelps as to why they weren’t to play fight near each others’ faces. Andagos had been lucky he hadn’t lost the eye. Fortunately, he still had vision in both, if only by chance of a lucky blink.

“Yeah, him!” Varian looks extremely pleased with him. Then, suddenly, he goes shy again. “Hmm. I don’t know how to say this…”

Ebyssian waits patiently, plucking leaves off of his herbs while he does. Finally, the whelp starts again.

“I’ve grown… _fond_ …of his company.”

“You’re fond of many peoples’ company, Varian.” It’s the exact wrong thing to say, but he shakes his head to continue before the whelp wilts entirely. “But I can gather your meaning.”

“Right, good, great. So, I was wondering…” He bites his lip again and gathers his thoughts. Ebyssian appreciates how similar his mannerisms are to Anduin’s. “Could you help me speak to Papa about it?”

“How so?”

The whelp sighs. “Something about Andagos calls to me…I don’t know how to phrase it.”

It hits Ebyssian then: Varian is no longer a _whelp_. What he’s speaking of…well, Ebyssian’s only heard of it occurring several years after one has fully become a drake. Certainly long after the casual affections of shifting age. He’d have to speak to Wrathion about the speed of the brood’s aging if they had gotten past the stages of uncertainty. “You’re drawn to him?”

“Yes.” Varian squirms under the scrutiny.

Hm. One more question would solve the mystery. “Where is he now?”

“How am I supposed to…oh. The hotsprings in Borean Tundra. Blowing bubbles at his younger siblings.” He looks at his uncle with a panicked expression. “How do I know that?!”

The older dragon channels a touch of energy through Azeroth and finds that Varian is correct. Ebyssian sighs. “Your papa will be able to tell you more. Come, let us go speak with him--provided he’s not blowing up another room.”

Varian laughs, knowing well how often his father’s experimentations with alchemy and engineering go poorly. “He won’t be mad?”

“Of course not. Now, if it were a red dragon…”

The young drake-- _that_ would take some getting used to--sticks his tongue out. “Not on my life. They’re nice enough but _she’s_ rude.”

Ebyssian doesn’t ask whom he’s referring to. He doesn’t have to. “You still need to be polite to her.”

“I am.”

“Good.” They walk in relative silence, carefully ducking out of the way as some of the most recent clutch tear through the halls shrieking, until they reach Wrathion’s workshop. Inside, Ebyssian can hear a rather fluent bout of cursing, a yelp, then an even more fluent string of curses--this time in Elvish. Varian manages to stifle another giggle as his uncle gives him a _look_. “Perfect timing, I think.”

He opens the door without knocking. Wrathion turns in the chair, a finger stuck in his mouth and glass scattered around him. “Yesh?”

“Is now a bad time? Should I come back with a broom?” He keeps his tone teasing as his younger brother narrows his eyes to glare at him.

Removing the finger, which appears to be only slightly bloodied, Wrathion replies. “No, no, it’s--oh, hello my darling, do be careful of the shards. Oomph!” Varian all but tackles him in a hug and immediately begins spewing forth a string of rushed together words, explaining himself.

When he finally stops, Wrathion looks to Ebyssian with shock, down at Varian, and back to Ebyssian. At his brother’s nod, he sighs. “Well, now, how did you grow up so fast. It’s been barely, what, a thirty years?”

“Papa!” Varian chides. “I’m over a century old!”

“Ugh, you grow too fast. Stop that.” More seriously, Wrathion brushes a stray lock of blond hair behind his son’s ear. “As for the matter at hand, of course you may spend more time with Andagos, provided he feels the same as you. And any official courtship will need the permission of both Kalecgos and Stellagosa, understand? But, please, do my heart a favor and hold off on that for at least another decade?”

Varian scowls at him. “A _decade?_ Why?”

“Because I’m still recovering from the two of you being the ringleaders for that stunt you pulled at the Oculus! Don’t think I didn’t know about _that_ little tidbit.”

The drake has the sense to look properly scolded…again. “Okay, Papa, I promise.”

“Excellent. Now go wrangle your sisters, I’m sure they’ve ambushed your father somewhere in the library again. Do save him.” Varian turns to leave, but is stopped by a hand on his sleeve. “Forgetting something?”

“Oh, right! Thank you, Papa, thank you Uncle Ebyssian.” He lets Wrathion kiss the top of his head before scurrying off.

Wrathion leans against the workbench with a deep sigh, looking over at his brother. “I’m getting too old for this sort of shock.”

His brother snorts. “ _You’re_ getting too old?” They share a laugh together before Ebyssian settles once more. “We’ve got so much longer to deal with your brood, my dear baby brother.”

The younger dragon grins at him and stands, crossing the distance between them and standing up on his tiptoes. Ebyssian leans down and presses their foreheads together. They rumble together affectionately, Wrathion breaking the silence first, but not the contact.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you all these years.”

“Get yourself into much more trouble, I’m sure.”

They rumble again before a crash, shriek, and deep masculine yelling reaches their ears. They break apart and exchange a look of amusement. “Speaking of, shall we go save my darling husband from my children?”


	6. Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrathion goes looking for someone.

Wrathion hates that it isn’t until after his most recent clutch hatches that he notices the loneliness growing in his brother’s eyes. It had been there before, he knows, but to see it growing every time Ebyssian sees him with Anduin, or when Varian comes to visit with his own mate, or any of the dozen others that have found their mates? Well, Wrathion just won’t have that. He does a bit of digging in the Stormwind library, asks some pointed questions, and finally finds the person he’s looking for.

His flight from Dalaran to Val’Sharah is a pleasant one, the business he’s on significantly less so. He has no idea what the elf is going to say to him, and he’s never enjoyed mysteries. He circles down over the restored Black Rook Hold and lands neatly in the middle of the courtyard. One of the multitude of servants bows to him and runs off to get the man he’s looking for.

Only a handful of minutes later, Jarod Shadowsong strides down the stairs to meet him, bowing to him. “Earth-Warder, how may I be of service?”

“Lord Shadowsong, forgive the intrusion. I was hoping you and I might be able to have a conversation.” He watches the elf’s reaction carefully.

The man’s ears twitch with barely restrained curiosity, but otherwise keeps his composure. “Of course. Why don’t we take a stroll outdoors? A good day this late in the season isn’t to be wasted.”

“Wonderful.”

The elf leads the way to a well-manicured pathway, obviously at ease in his new home. The silence stretches between them, but Jarod is the first to cave to it. “Excuse my curiosity, your grace--”

“Just Wrathion, please.”

“Wrathion, but what was the conversation you wished to have with me?”

Wrathion mulls over what he’s going to say for a breath before he does. “You were once with my brother, Ebyssian. Why have you not returned to him?”

Jarod’s boots scuff to a halt on the stones and he stares at the dragon. “You jest.”

“I most certainly do not. It is my understanding that you had been his consort at one point in time.” He refuses to waste time on someone who won’t make his brother happy, so he’s as blunt as he can be. No sense in using pretty words.

“Yes, twenty-five hundred years ago! And he is the one who told us to leave him!” Jarod yells, tips of his ears red.

The dragon notes that the kaldorei is mad. Good. “I never said my brother was a particularly smart individual when it came to the matter of romance.” He shrugs. “Based on the little information I have, it’s rather the opposite, I think.”

“Your brother pushed us away. We _loved_ him, Shal and I, and she _died_ loving him still. I will not go groveling back to him. I tried that once, only to have my heart broken again.” Jarod starts walking again, now at a faster pace.

Wrathion arches an eyebrow and smirks. If he didn’t want to have the rest of the conversation, he would have retreated into the Hold. So the dragon matches his pace. “He’s an idiot, I understand. The question remains, however: are you _still_ in love with him?”

“No.”

His smirk grows. “You’re a shit liar, Shadowsong.”

Jarod rounds on him with a snarl rivaling a dragon’s. No wonder Ebyssian chose him. “I will not go back to him, Earth-Warder, not for him to say--”

“That he still loves you? He does, you know.”

“W-what?”

“Won’t stop telling my children about his former consorts with a dreamy look in his eyes. It’s almost nauseating, but then I’ve seen him when the children leave and he thinks he’s alone. I don’t know how many tears I’ve seen him shed over you, over your late wife, but I will not see him shed any more.” Wrathion gets in the elf’s face, a little surprised he doesn’t flinch away. “You have two choices: first, you tell him you don’t want him anymore, to find someone else, goodbye forever; second, you tell him you still love him, always have, let him say the same to you now that he’s not trapped in fucking _Highmountain_ , of all places, and live happily ever after, thank you kindly. Either way, pack a bag. You’ll need to come to Blackrock either way.”

He watches Jarod contemplate his choices before his ears droop slightly. The night elf sighs and pulls on a cord around his neck. The small black scale the gets revealed has Wrathion reeling. “Ebyssian gave you one of his neck scales and you spent _all this time_ brooding about this absurd little hold of your sister’s _when you could have been with him?!”_

The kaldorei flinches at the sheer rage in Wrathion’s tone. “I told you, I _tried_.”

“No, you utter _imbecile_ , you have no idea what this meant, do you?!”

“It’s a token of affection, nothing more.”

Wrathion shifts unintentionally to roar at the man. “Neck scales are only given to _mates_ , you complete idiot!”

The words bowl Jarod over, who falls to the ground with a thump. He stares down at the scale in his hand and shakes his head. “No, it can’t be…” He reaches into a pouch at his side and pulls out another cord, identical to the other in his hands. “He--he gave Shal one too…”

Wrathion growls. “Light, spare me the stupidity of mortals.”

“Not mortal anymore, not after the Life-Binder--”

“Yes, yes, welcome back to immortality, thank you Nordrassil.” Wrathion had heard about the ritual a century past, but hadn’t really cared. Blah blah blah, magic, you’ve heard it once, you’ve heard it a thousand times. He refused to give Alexstrasza any credit. “Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to go _pack_ so we can return you to your _mate?!”_

By the time they actually make it to Blackrock Mountain, Wrathion is utterly done with people in general. First, he had to explain to Maiev where he was taking her brother and why, get threatened by her blades, and talk Jarod into actually leaving _again_. Then he had to take the portal to Stormwind and convince Jarod to keep going, at which point he saw the trend. Finally, he had to tolerate Jarod’s personal back-and-forth monologue the entire flight from Stormwind to Blackrock. Wrathion decides he needs a _nap_. Or his husband. Both would be good.

It’s a stroke of luck that Ebyssian is on the balcony of the spire when they fly up, casually watching the activity of the town below the mountain. He bugles a greeting to Wrathion, which dies in his throat when he sees who he’s carrying. At least he doesn’t flee, Wrathion supposes.

When Jarod refuses to dismount, the younger dragon shifts into his human form. “Ah, brother, I found your wayward _mate_.” The ashamed expression is a little satisfying. “We’ll be talking about that later. For now, _talk_.” He leans against the doorway to the throne room, blocking any exit route Jarod could take aside from launching himself off the mountain.

It’s _agony_ , watching the two males stare at each other without exchanging a single word, but they break the silence and it turns into a cacophony.

“I’m sorry, I never should have pushed you away--”

“We were your mates and you thought you could just hide that--”

“--but I couldn’t take the chance that the wards would fail--”

“--as if the truth wouldn’t find us eventually? You should have just--”

“--or that they _wouldn’t_ and you’d be stuck there like me just wasting your lives--”

“-- _told_ us, you big idiot, we would have never left, are you _kidding me_ \--”

“--you have to understand I couldn’t let you make that choice I had to because--”

“--Shal _told_ me it was a bad idea, I didn’t listen, and _gods_ , I wish I’d just said--”

Wrathion smirks, seeing where this is going.

“--I love you.”

“--that I love you.”

 _Yes!_ Wrathion owes himself a hundred gold.

Jarod and Ebyssian stare at each other, and then they’re moving, Jarod throwing his bag off to the side and Ebyssian shifting into his lesser-used sin’dorei form. They collide like a force of nature, holding each other close. Wrathion watches for a few moments longer until they share a kiss that makes _him_ blush, and then he leaves without a word.


End file.
